


the Princess and her Spy

by cassandor



Category: Baahubali (Movies), Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Gen, thanks to my tumblr banner, the crack AU nobody asked for, young Devasena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: Everything he did, he did for his princess.(In which the young Crown Princess of Kuntala finds a friend in a spy from far, far away.)





	1. fruits of labour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenofmahishmati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofmahishmati/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then the leaves whisper her name.  
> (in which the princess meets a stranger.)

Bark scrapes skin and twigs snag on delicate fabric as Deva deftly makes her way up the tree. She makes a mental note to trade some of her jewelry, something simple that would escape the notice of her sister-in-law or any of her maids, for hardier clothing more appropriate for her travels.

Travels meaning her long journeys to the farthest corner of the palace’s garden.

Deva is no sheltered damsel: her brother made the citizens of Kuntala as important to her royal education as the Vedas and the arrows in the quiver on her back. But she was always accompanied on those journeys into the villages closest to the castle. Even strolling through the markets disguised as an unassuming daughter of the mountains, she was under the watchful eye of her brother, one of his spies, or one of her own attendants.

Then again, her brother did have a right to worry. Not for Deva’s safety, for the princess was loved by the people as much as she loved them, but for the safety of others.

She tended to rush head first into things. _Listen to your heart, do not sit idle when dharma is broken,_ her mother often said, and repeated once more on her deathbed. The young princess had taken the ailing Queen’s words to heart, albeit a little too literally.

Deva had thus developed the habit of speaking her mind from a very young age. If she felt anything was wrong, she would oppose it till her dying breath. There were many tales among the commoners of a misbehaving adult who had gotten their ear chewed out by a child. (Only later, upon retelling the stories to those who hadn’t been fortunate enough to be there, did they realize that this was the Crown Princess. It then became a habit for commoners to treat little girls with the utmost respect. You never knew if it was the yuvarani herself!)

With a mind as sharp and a tongue as fierce as hers, it was no surprise that the crown princess was a perfectionist. She sought out anything that stimulated her intellect, tried any idea that she felt was worth a try.

One such idea now hangs on the branches of a tree.

“We have the finest mangoes stored safely in the kitchens!” her sister-in-law had exclaimed after Deva had first attempted climbing a tree. “Are you trying to put the gardeners out of business, my dear?” she had asked, winding cloth around Deva’s sprained ankle to set it in place.

Deva had merely smiled.

A few years had passed and the tween’s tree-climbing skills have grown, along with the complexity of the handwork on her clothing. She curses the zealous talent of her people as she tugs her foot free of the branch’s scratchy embrace.

Now her sights are on the trees on the opposite side of the garden. The idea had popped into her head a few nights before (some may say the full moon had its way with her imagination): climb up one tree and shoot the mangoes off the other.

It was easier said than done, for the bow and quiver made it difficult to climb, and the thick leaves of the tree make it hard for her to see her target. Irritation crawls up her spine like a fire-ant.

Then Deva remembers Arjunan and the parrot’s eye, and soon her world shrinks to the joint in a branch where a bunch of golden fruit hang in the dim moonlight. Maybe Dronacharaya would have let her arrow fly, but fate does not.

No, the leaves rustle a warning in her ears. Deva pays no attention to it (it could be the wind, or an owl, and Arjunan wouldn’t let it distract him – and she was no lesser than he). She shakes her head to refocus and tightens her grip.

But then the leaves whisper her name.

“Yuvarani?”

Years of practise prevent the arrow from prematurely taking flight. She whips around and focuses its point to the owner of the voice.

A boy. Gazing up at her from the base of her tree. 

“Who are you?” she snaps.

“You’ll find out tomorrow morning, princess.” The boy smiles up at her. She can barely make out his features. His smile glints in the moonlight, and the nighttime wind sweeps his hair across his forehead. She pegs him by his features as one of those the most distant mountain villages of Kuntala, a group whose blood was not rooted in _bharatha desam_ , but flowed across many oceans.

“By the order of the Crown Princess of Kuntala, what is your name?” she asks again. She infers that the boy presents no immediate harm so she removes her arrow from the string.

“By the order of the _King_ of Kuntala Desam, you will find out tomorrow morning.”

Deva scrunches up her face. _By the order of her brother?_ She shoulders off her quiver and places the arrow back with its brethren, careful not to damage the bright pink feathers. _Who is this boy?_

She realizes, suddenly, that the way her mother tongue left his mouth did not match her assumption about his identity.

“What business do you have in the palace gardens at nighttime?” she asks defensively, looking down at him over her perch.

“What business do _you_ have sitting in a tree, yuvarani?”

This boy is full of more riddles than the strictest of her teachers. Deva gracefully swings down from the branch, mangoes forgotten, letting her feet dangle precariously over the boy before gracefully landing on her feet.

The boy tilts his head at her, a light smile attempting to evoke a reply. She straightens up, rearranging the folds of her clothing (her sister-in-law’s voice chiding her in her mind), and dusts off her hands with a victorious smile.

“You’ll find out in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crack-AU aside, I think all my headcanons about young Deva are canon compliant. Also, I'm toying with the idea that Kuntala wasn't always picture perfect (note in the movie how Deva is still making those expeditions to rural villages and ridding the forests of animals), and that Deva might have had to fight for her rights a teensy bit. You'll see what I mean.
> 
> Notes:  
> Arjunan and the parrot's eye/Dronacharaya: refers to the scene in the _Mahabharatham_ where the teacher, Dronacharaya, is training his students to shoot at a parrot in the tree. He calls them forward one by one, dismissing them after he asks 'what can you see'? When Arjunan replies, "only the parrot's eye," the teacher lets him shoot, and the arrow meets it's mark. (A lesson on focus, featuring the most talented archer in history.)


	2. brought to light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was he her Duryodhana?  
> (in which the princess finds a rival.)

The sun peers through the gaps between Kuntala’s mountains and uses its rays to gently caress the young Princess’ face. The slowly increasing warmth of the sun chases away dew clinging desperately to blades of grass. Usually it takes more than the chirping of mountain birds to awaken their beloved yuvarani (often an exasperated maid brought the Queen in as reinforcement), but the intrigue of the night before left Deva restless and thus she finds herself rising with the suryabhagavaan himself.

She spends the first of her waking hours watching her room shift from a reddish orange to a golden yellow, turning the threads of her bedsheets gold and eventually back to silver. But her mind is not on the beauty of the sunrise, but rather on what she knew of those who occupied the highest villages of their mountains. (Which wasn’t very much.)

_You’ll find out in the morning._

The morning is here, so where is the boy?

As if on cue, her door creaks open slowly and the chief maid calls for the princess in a voice tainted with resignation from years of hearing no response. When Deva replies with a bright “I’m awake!” the maid nearly passes out on the spot.

“You’re awake!?”

“That’s just what I just said, Mani-amma. I’m awake. Have you gone deaf after all these years?” Deva teases her with a smile.

Her former nurse steps forward, a hand pressed to her chest in mock surprise. “I might have, dear princess, if that is indeed you and not some divine imposter.” Deva shakes her head, hair flying loose. “Anyways, we need to clean you up. Your brother has called for an audience with all the people of the castle.”

Deva quirks up an eyebrow, kicking off her bedsheets. “Did he say what the meeting was for?”  Maniamma extends a hand but Deva refuses and hops off her bed instead.

“The King did not say. Rumor says we’re about to have a few people join our ranks.” The maid ushers Deva into the bathroom.

“As in…” Deva hesitates to change, realizing her feet were still scratched up from the night before.

“More servants in the castle.” Deva’s face scrunches up in thought. “How many times have I told you that twisting your features like that is unbefitting of a royal?”

Deva groans, electing to ignore her beloved caretaker’s comment. “But anna didn’t say we needed any more people in the castle! It’s not like our population has doubled recently. It’s just us three, anni’s ladies-in-waiting, you, anna’s guards, and the handful of workers.” She tilts her head. “Unless…”

Maniamma regards her, something unknown lurking in the depths of her eyes. That disappears and the maid offers the princess a smile. “Whatever it is, you’ll find out soon enough. Now hurry and bathe, my dear! The newcomers need to see the best of Kuntala!”

Deva grumbles something about how the newcomers, if they did become servants, would eventually see her without royal garb anyways.

* * *

 

It turns out one already had. Deva enters the throne room flanked by her sister-in-law, followed closely by their attendants. She catches sight of the newcomers immediately. They’re dressed in the thicker, neutral clothing of mountain-dwellers and murmur nervously among themselves. As Deva settles in her seat to the right of her brother’s throne, her eyes land on a familiar face.

It’s the boy. As promised, the morning sun sheds light on his identity. He’s taller than she remembers, or maybe it was his boyish features that reinforced a lie told by the night. She now pegs him at no more than a couple of years older than herself. He stands apart from the others, not because of Deva’s recognition or his status as the youngest in the group, but rather because he stands with grace and poise, a straight back and lax gaze that wanders across the throne room.

Deva refuses to let the recognition show on her face but the boy seems to not catch her intent (or maybe he plans to break her resolve). His eyes meet hers. He smiles warmly at her and gives her a small nod. She straightens up in her seat and adopts the dignified posture of the Crown Princess in return.

_What business do **you** have sitting in a tree, yuvarani?_

Deva was not one to think herself better than her people due to a miracle of birth. She was one to be competitive, however, and the boy had challenged her wit. He had held his own with ease against the girl with a reputation for twisting people’s words into a noose. He had presented her with a tempting challenge.

Was he her Duryodhana? She returns his gaze and he smiles at her once again, but this time there is bright curiosity in his eyes.

The loud voice breaks her chain of thought. “The court assembles under the leadership of His Royal Highness King Jayavarma of Kuntala, on this third day of the third month!”

Deva settles in her seat to watch.

“He is petitioned today by the villagers from the farthest reaches of Kuntala’s malaipradhesam!”

The guard motions for the leader of the group to speak. Deva half expects it to be her competitor, but it is an old man that steps forward.

“Beloved King, we come seeking refuge. The state of our faraway village will not be unknown to you. Our trades are failing us, and we seek shelter in your castle. As labourers, as...”

The King raises a hand. Deva’s eyebrows draw together in thought. The message was abrupt enough that she had an inkling that the King had been debriefed much earlier, possibly before her competitor had shown up in their gardens. Why present the pretense of a group of villagers wanting sanctuary? They had no enemies in this court, not that she knew of.

Her gaze returns to her competitor, whose face was wiped clean of any expression.

Jayavarama clears his throat. “Let it be as such, then. Your women may join the ranks of the Queen’s attendants, unless they find the kitchens more suited to their skill set. The men can join the guards for training, and those who are fit may stay. We will arrange homes for the elderly, until…” he stops, reconsidering. “The court is dismissed.”

The chief guard reiterates the announcement, and all but the King, Deva, and her competitor exit the throne room. Deva’s heart sinks – was this all she would learn about her competitor? A mere guard-in-training? The position itself was nothing to lament, but she had expected something… bigger. Worthier of the one she had claimed as a rival.

“Deva,” her brother begins and she prepares for the dismissal. Instead he says, “can you stay for a moment?”

She almost yelps with glee but remembers the other pair of eyes focused on her. She nods instead. “As you wish, anna.”

The King nods and turns to her rival. “The boy is not suited for work as a guard. I’ve appointed him as a spy instead.”

Deva’s eyebrows shoot up. How could her brother trust a boy they barely knew from the farthest reaches of their kingdom with state secrets?

Jayavarma smiles at her expression. “I know what you’re thinking, Deva. But he’s proven himself worthy. Don’t let his age deceive you – how old are you again, boy?”

“Fifteen, your Highness,” he replies, the polite smile not once faltering.

“Two years your senior, Deva. And you always told me I should not judge you by your age but rather your talent. I’ve done the same with him.”

Something grates at the edge of Deva’s consciousness. Was it jealousy? It could be, for her was her brother praising a boy – in his presence - that she called her competitor. 

“You’ve always been wanting to get involved with the matters of the state,” her brother continues. “And as next in line to the throne, I think it was a matter of time you tried your hand at things.”

“So…” Deva finds her voice.

“I’ve appointed him as your personal spy.”

The words sink in and Deva’s eyes flutter with confusion. “My _what?!_ ” She can hear the boy stifle a laugh but she doesn’t bother looking over.

 _"Your_ spy, _your_ eyes and ears in the kingdom. Don’t worry, he has no qualms serving a Princess younger than him, correct?” Her competitor – her spy! – nods. “There. You are free of your duties for the rest of the morning.”

Deva stares at her brother, at a loss for words.

“Get to know each other. We value our spies like equals, and a team works best with mutual understanding. Go, Deva.” Her brother smiles, and she wonders if this is just another puzzle he’s given her to solve. A living, breathing, puzzle.

Her gaze meets her spy’s.

He was not her Duryodhana, then. She’d have to find another name.

* * *

“What’s your name?”

They two of them are walking around the palace gardens. Even though her brother seemed to have no qualms about the boy’s presence in the castle, _she_ did, and figured it would be best not showcase the finery of the castle to a stranger.

“Cassian, your Highness.” He dips his head and his hair falls in his eyes.

Deva crinkles her nose. “Drop the title, it’s weird.”

Cassian tilts his head at her. “You’re royalty.”

“You’re older than me.”

“I’m also your spy, your Highness,” he adds solemnly. “I know my place.”

Deva sets her jaw, tugging a leaf off a bush. “You called me yuvarani last night, didn’t you? Stick to that.”

“As you wish, yuvarani.” Cassian grins and ducks his head.

“Why are you laughing like that, Cassian?”

“Highness and Yuvarani are both titles. Why do you prefer one over the other?”

How was she to explain the difference? She falls silent as they walk side by side, mulling over the words. One felt hefty like the sound of the temple bell, one carried no burden like water lapping at the edge of a lake. One was used by visiting dignitaries and strangers, and one was used almost exclusively by her citizens and loved ones.

And there was something about the way Cassian had used it teasingly the night before. She liked it. (But she would never admit it.) 

However, Deva doesn’t have the words to explain all that and instead says: “Yuvarani sounds less weird. More natural.”

“Be thankful I didn’t call you Your Worship or something,” he grins.

 Deva laughs. “That sounds awful. Never say that again.” She stops by a tree and reaches up to snag a fruit. It comes off easily and the branch rebounds, sending some leaves swirling to the ground by her feet.

Cassian leans against the tree and crosses his arms. “Your wish is my command, yuvarani.”

Deva looking up from where she’s cleaning the fruit off with her dress. “Stop that!”

“What?” Cassian looks concerned.

She gestures with the fruit. “You’re putting me on a pedestal.”

“You’re the princess.”

“You knew that last night.” She suddenly understands what was bothering her. Cassian had been so jovial with her the night before, and now he treats her formally and it irks her – it _was_  nice to talk with someone who didn’t treat her as the Princess of Kuntala, but as an equal. Someone she could compete with.

But why the sudden change? Deva tilts her head and watches Cassian as the sun hanging above works with the wind to nudge the tree’s leaves into creating a dancing pattern across his face.

He smirks and the realization dawns on her.

“You’ve been teasing me this _entire time_!” she exclaims, and chucks the fruit at him. Cassian grins, fumbling to catch the fruit and save it from a cruel fate in the dirt. “You-you-ugh!” She stomps off further into the gardens.

“Yuvarani!” he calls in a lilting voice. Deva continues walking. “Oh, yuvarani! The sun is directly above our heads. You’ll be called in for lunch soon. What are my orders for the rest of the day?”

Deva stops in her tracks and turns around with a glare. “I don’t know!”

“You have to tell me!”

Deva wets her lips, deep in thought. “Prepare me a report on your people. I want to know everything there is about them.”

“Done.”

“And meet me here tonight. I need to finish what I was doing before _somebody_ interrupted me last night.”

“Done.”

“Don’t tell anyone else.”

Cassian shrugs. “Done.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Appadiye aagatum, yuvarani.”

“Bye.” She turns on her heel just in time to hear Maniamma calling for her and then sprints off towards the castle.

Cassian bites into the fruit with a small smile, watching her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to give Cassian a happier personality than the one he has in canon. (Perhaps this is what he could have been, who knows?)
> 
> Notes:  
> Duryodhana is Arjunan (and the rest of the Pandavas) antagonist in the Mahabharatham.  
> "Appadiye aagatum": "and so it shall be", used like the English "as you wish!"


	3. in the moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you a bandit, then, yuvarani?”  
> (in which the princess uncovers a secret.)

The moon hangs low on the horizon, round and red like the pottu adorning the Saraswathi that greets Deva every time she sneaks in and out of her wing of the main palace. Deva glances at her briefly, her dainty marble fingers hovering over a veenai, lotus-like lips upturned in a humorous smile as stone eyes question the young princess tiptoeing past her.

_where are you headed, dear rajakumari?_

_I’m going to practise my skills,_ she thinks, hoping that would satiate the goddess of wisdom’s curiosity.

_so be it, then._

The last slit of daylight falls across the statue’s face and Deva hefts her quiver onto her back and sets out on her nightly journey.

* * *

 

The moon was shining a deep copper colour by the time Cassian finds her sitting in the same tree from the night before.

“What took you so long, Cassian?” she queries, legs swinging carelessly from a branch. She does her best to cover the suspicion in her voice with casual curiosity.

“I was waiting for nightfall,” he shrugs, and reaches out with a scroll. “Can’t be running around in the broad daylight.”  

“What’s that?” she gestures with her chin.

“The history you asked for, yuvarani.”

Deva pats the branch next to her. “Save that for later, I’ll take it when we leave. Come join me here.”

“Yuvarani?” Cassian asks.

“Are you too shy to sit in a tree? Or, god forbid, do you not know how to climb one?”

“Nothing like that, yuvarani,” Cassian says as he grasps the trunk, swinging his feet up. “We of the mountains can climb as well as any mountain goat. I was wondering whether it would be proper for one to sit in a tree with a princess.”

She snorts. “Right. _Proper._ A fifteen-year-old spy from the mountains and a thirteen-year-old girl whose most popular nickname is ‘hothead’. There’s nothing to worry about, I won’t bite your head off.”

“If you say so.” Cassian’s head pops out between two branches, their leaves framing the grin on his face.

“Are you much of an archer, Cassian?” she asks nonchalantly as she strings an arrow on her bow.

“I prefer the bow to every other weapon, yuvarani. I picked up a slingshot when I was six and have loved the protection distance offers ever since.” He settles on a branch, a leg on either side as if he was sitting on a horse. “But my first defenses are always my words.”

Deva arches her eyebrows, barely looking away from the mangoes she could barely see in the dim light of the moon and torches on the castle walls. “That seems wise, considering how sharp and precise yours are.”

Cassian bows his head. “As expected for a spy,” he says a little too solemnly. But Deva doesn’t notice, only lies flat on her branch to allow her bow some room. The bark scratches at her stomach and leaves poke at her and she crinkles her face in response. The arrow flies straight and true, but it only nicks the branch the mangoes hang from, missing them by a hand-width.

“Wouldn’t this be easier in the daytime, yuvarani?” Cassian asks, arms folded.

“What a brilliant idea, why hadn’t I thought of that?” Deva scoffs. “I’m not allowed to, silly. I’m pretty sure half the attendants would faint at the thought of a princess climbing a tree. Besides, attackers don’t just show up during the day. What if I needed to shoot something at night? Bandits work best at the night, you know.”

“Are you a bandit, then, yuvarani?”

The arrow misses its mark once again, and Deva turns to stick her tongue at her spy. “Of course.”

“Her Royal Highness Devasena of Kuntala, professional bandit.” Cassian waits a moment, then grins.  “Her Royal Bandit.”

“A bandit and a spy, what an excellent team we make,” Deva notes. Something about the remark brings the thought that had been bothering her all day to the forefront, and she decides to try her luck. “Yes, the princess who sneaks out at night, and the spy who spies on his princess!”

She takes a moment to appreciate Cassian’s skill – he should be surprised, and he is, but he doesn’t make any sound or movement. Only the nighttime wind rustling the leaves offers any expression of surprise.

“What do you mean, yuvarani?”

She doesn’t reply immediately, the prospect of outsmarting a spy giving her a slight thrill, and instead strings the second last of her arrows. “I know you being my personal spy is just a pretense, Cassian. You’re really my brother’s spy.” The arrow wedges itself in the branch right above the mangoes with a loud thwack and splinters the wood. “He wants you to keep an eye on me, and report my movements to him.”

The boy-turned-statue moves and Cassian inhales deeply, uncrossing his arms and pressing his hands on his thighs.

“Is that your problem, yuvarani? I was worried it was something bigger.”

Deva rests her bow on the branch and sits up to face Cassian, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Was he admitting it or not?

“Don’t use your tricky spy language on me.”

“I’m not.”

“So you’re admitting you’re answering to my brother, not me?”

“It is the duty of every citizen of Kuntala to answer to the King,” he replies, and wears a slight grin when Deva groans. “But… you mean to say…”

“That you were late because you were tattling to my brother and told him I was out here,” Deva finishes rather grumpily. “ _That_ ’s what I’m saying.” She’s tempted to add an insult, like _you traitorous monkey,_ or _you insolent buffalo_ , but the dignity of her position is not utterly lost on her (Maniamma would be proud) and Cassian _is_ a stranger who is older than herself. Hence the animals stay locked up in her mind.

But Cassian is not blind to the sparks spraying from her eyes, and he relents. “You’re quite perceptive, yuvarani, or perhaps just a little too suspicious of your brother, but I…”

Deva waits. She’s not oblivious to the fact she just asked Cassian to commit treason and reveal his actual instructions, and she’s reasonable enough to give him some time. She grudgingly finds herself marvelling at his skill and loyalty – even if not to her.

“I am supposed to report to him.”

Deva frowns, lips tugged not by surprise but by… disappointment? _How am I disappointed in someone I barely know?_ Perhaps it was the prospect of having a friend, a confidante, an equal, being crushed?

But he is a spy, and spies are meant to lie and betray. With that, Deva assumes the queenly posture of the Princess of Kuntala, and says:

“What now?”

Cassian looks away, to the mangoes hanging on the tree. “That is your decision, yuvarani.”

“A royal must have faith in their spies’ loyalty, and you have lost mine in the matter of hours.” Deva blinks, the moon suddenly peering between a gap in the branches and casting its white light on her face. “But… you can redeem yourself.”

It’s easy to admit she’s having quite a bit of fun with this. Deva isn’t entirely sure how much of Cassian’s disappointment is acting and how much is genuine, but she’s thoroughly enjoying playing the role of a scorned royal.

Cassian doesn’t answer, seemingly deeply invested in the swirling patterns of the tree’s bark.

“Use your intellect and offer me a solution.” Deva grins knowing he isn’t looking, and adds: “That’s an order.”

He immediately looks up at her and she quickly drops the smile for a stately look of disapproval.

“I can’t lie to the King’s face,” he says, “but I can hide the entire truth.”

Deva lifts a hand to question him.

“I mean, your authority can override his. I can tell him only what you order me to tell him. Is that alright, yuvarani?” his eyes glint in the moonlight, which is slowly tracing a path from Deva’s face to Cassian’s.

Deva merely watches him with an arrow-sharp gaze, lips not quite smiling but not quite frown either.

“Yuvaraniyaare! Ungal kopam thaniyaathaa?” he asks. Deva can’t quite tell if his beseeching voice is sarcastic but a faint smile gives it away and then it finds a mirror in hers and soon the moon is shining on both of their grins.

“One more thing.” Cassian looks at her in surprise, and then at the hands thrust in his face. “Shoot the last arrow.” They shuffle in the branches, swapping positions. Deva once again realizes how tall Cassian is and idly wonders which one of them will turn out to be the tallest in the end. Cassian lies flat on the branch, feet pressed against the trunk, mimicking her position from earlier. He takes a solid minute to steady himself and raise the bow.

The arrow flies and finds a home beside Deva’s last arrow. The mango tree cracks in protest as the wound on its branch widens. She had to admit, it was an impressive first shot.

“I guess neither of us had any luck today.” Cassian hands the bow and empty quiver to Deva and hops off the branch, hanging by his arms before dropping to the ground. Deva follows suit, taking her time to gather up the fabric of her clothing before landing gracefully in the grass damp with dew.

“There is always tomorrow,” she replies, shrugging on the quiver and extending a hand. Cassian hands her the scroll.

“Are you going to read this tonight, yuvarani?” he asks as Deva trots off towards the mango tree. “It’s getting quite late.”

She shrugs as she gathers the fallen arrows, wipes them off and places them back in her quiver. She eyes the two arrows stuck in the tree. “Should I climb up and grab those as well?”

Cassian is about to answer when the tree responds instead. A gust of wind proves too much for the already weakened branch, and the thin part that holds up the mangoes gives way. Cassian reaches for the fruit and catches them, while the arrows clatter to Deva’s feet.

“Well, there’s your answer, yuvarani.” He extends the mangoes to her and she shakes her head.

“You take them home, give them to your family.” Cassian opens his mouth to protest and Deva waves her hand. “You won’t get in trouble for it, I assure you.”

Cassian nods reluctantly. “As you wish, yuvarani. What are my orders for tomorrow?”

Deva stops to think, choosing her words carefully. “You’re supposed to report to my brother tomorrow morning, I assume?” Cassian nods. “So, tell him what we did here. Except this.” She waves the scroll in the air, the importance of its contents feeling heavy in her hand. She can’t pinpoint _why_ she doesn’t want her brother to learn of her sudden interest in Kuntala’s mountain-people, but considering the abrupt meeting of the court that morning she figures the precaution is necessary. “You didn’t tell him I asked you for this, right?”

Cassian bites his lip. “I didn’t think to tell him.”

“Good, keep it that way. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m training with the other guards tomorrow,” Cassian says. “Apparently they want to see my skill set. We shall meet another time, yuvarani. I’ll take your leave.”

Deva nods, rather hesitantly, and they part ways like the forks of a river.

* * *

 

She decides to tuck the scroll neatly out of sight in the petals of the white lotus on which the Saraswathi statue rested on. Deva glances up at the goddess who seemed to have already read the the scroll and was now wondering how Deva would shape the future with its knowledge. She doesn’t know either and exhaustion gets the better of her so she silently makes her way to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Saraswathi is the Hindu goddess of knowledge, associated with the colour white (much like Kuntala itself).


	4. interlude I: to unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which the princess does some bedtime reading.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deva unravels the scroll by the light of an oil lamp. The silent fabric of the night is disrupted by the intermittent hoots of an owl and the occasional flapping of wings. She takes a moment to study Cassian’s handwriting. It’s light and neat, the ink transferred to the page without splotches or smudges, words slanted and clean – not as neat as her teachers’, though. It is legible but there is nothing worth too much attention.
> 
> It seems even his handwriting was made for spy work. 
> 
> With a thin-lipped hmph¸ Deva settles deeper into her bedsheets, and begins to read.

> To the esteemed Crown Princess of Kuntala –

I don’t think anyone will be looking over your shoulder now, are they yuvarani? Then I shall drop the titles.

You asked for the history of my people, but my quill hesitates to begin. Do I start from when the world was nothing but an ocean? From when mountains and land masses rose from the swirling depths, thrust upwards by an unseen hand?

My hand already throbs in protest at the thought, and I fear that this scroll will not be long enough to contain such a history lesson. I assume you’ve had a royal education worthy of the Saraswathi that welcomes us into the palace, and the title that precedes your name.

Hence, I will settle on starting with those who lived many, many, _many_ , generations ago.

We who live in the uppermost reaches of Kuntala, nestled in the mountains, are the descendants of a travelling people who, I’ve been told, left their motherland to become seafarers and traders. Such a tale would not be unfamiliar to you, as even now the children of many different kingdoms mingle in the markets of the North, carrying trinkets and wares of lands beyond our imagination.

The prospect of travelers passing through Kuntala Desam and immediately falling in love with its mountains looming above lush green pastures and winding rivers should be easily believable, and elders quote the ancients' praises of the home away from home. And so, some of those early travelers renounced the life of the ocean, and chose to find a new home up in the mountains.

One day, if you ever embark on a trip up into our villages, perhaps as a Queen instead of a Princess, I will gladly show you the artefacts that our ancestors kept from their boats, preserved remnants of far-flung lands that you and I, and even the most well-travelled spy in any kingdom we know the name of, have yet to see.

I could set my quill down right here, but something tells me that you asked for our history not just out of the goodness of your heart (which you have plenty of, yuvarani, do not fret) or plain curiosity (which, I don’t think you need to be reminded of, you have plenty) but out of a need to understand what happened in your brother’s court this morning (at the time of writing this, at least, I do not have the foresight to guess when you will find the time to read this humble scroll).

I find myself, then, looking back at the generation before ours.  

I cannot lay the blame on the Kuntalan Royal family, for the mountain villages are hidden high up in the air like an eagle’s nest – out of sight and mind. I cannot blame ourselves, for human blood is rife with many things, like a yearning for the homeland, the ocean, and conflict. All good things come to an end, and our people were struck twice: once by our own hands, and once by the hands of fate.

Nobody living knows why or how it began, but suddenly there was a group of people who wanted to resume the nomadic lives of their ancestors. They blame the Kuntalan royalty for neglecting us and wanted to continue our people’s journey, perhaps even return to the motherland.

Of course, with every action comes opposition, and thus there grew a group who love Kuntala dearly – it is the place of my and my forefathers’ birth as much as it is the place of yours, dear yuvarani – and did not have the heart to leave.

Thus we were split into two camps, and the tragedy of it is that neither group can succeed without the other, for our numbers are so few and the mountains are so high. (We have intermarried with those of the lower lands but our population is much smaller than the other villages that make up this kingdom.)

Then, more recently, we were struck with a drought, and all the rare varieties of food and herbs we cultivate up in our villages withered, leaving us – those loyal to the Kuntalan royal family – no option but to leave the mountains. A lack of food feeds anger, and anger only leads to more strife, does it not? 

I can already see your brain working, poking at the little holes in this story, thinking of a thousand questions and theories to bombard me with, and I will gladly lend my ear to them when we meet again.

> \- With respect, your spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deva reads the scroll once, twice, three times, before she rolls it up, the paper rustling against itself as it is winded around the roll. Part of her is indignant at Cassian's observations of her personality (mostly because they were true) but the rest of her mind is running away with her like wild horses freed from a chariot.
> 
> It is a shame, then, that Cassian is whisked away to guard training for the foreseeable future, and she does not get the chance to ask him any questions for a long time.


	5. interlude II: to trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it not wrong to kill?”  
> (in which the princess learns to trust.)

* * *

* * *

Devasena is bored.

The two days of excitement with Cassian fade away like ink on parchment left in the sunlight, and she’s left grasping at wisps of smoky memories.

The voices of the handmaidens fawning and gushing over the latest imported jewelry and handlooms fades to a buzz in the background. Poking fun at poor Kumaravarman’s antics no longer gives her satisfaction. Maniamma finds herself unable to coax banter out of the young princess, who shuffles sleepily between bedroom, bathroom, and dining room without complaint.

Devasena is silent.

The same old tree, the same old arrows. She sneaks out every night with ritualistic devotion, her determination to hone her skills only encouraged by the need to show Cassian her improvement. Even then, the monotony weighs her down.

Except for the buzz of insects, and the occasional coo of lovebirds, the night is silent.

She dreams of snowcapped mountains, and icy snow stinging her skin. She dreams of faraway lands and the rhythmic bounce of horseback, the clatter of hooves kicking up dust and the chime of foreign coins.

Cassian’s scroll falls from her fingertips, unravelling across the stone floors as she dozes off.

“Is she sick?” her brother inquires.

“Is she _lovesick_?” the maids inquire.

Maniamma scoffs. “My princess is none of that. She is no wilting flower to succumb to illness nor the scent of a man.”

“Then what ails her?” The Queen asks. “You know her days and nights better than we.”

“It’s quite simple, your Highness. She merely has a yearning for adventure that none of us can provide.” She raises her eyes to the Queen. “It may be out of my place to suggest this, but I believe a trip to the markets will do her some good.”

“But of course,” the Queen’s eyes crinkle. “It’s not like we’ve ever denied her the right to do so!”

“Alone, I mean. Not with my eyes or anyone else’s glued to her back.”

The Queen frowns at that. “You know how unreasonable that is. Devasena is completely capable of taking care of herself, but she’s barely a woman. I fear….” She trails off, hands dropping to her sides so her bangles chime in emphasis. “Why can’t we send her with my attendants, or my brother’s guards?”

Maniamma chokes back a laugh. “She cannot put up with us inside the palace, I can only imagine what she will do out in the open.”

The Queen sighs. “What do you propose, then?”

“I suggest you send her with someone she trusts.”

* * *

“Why are you waking me up so _early?_ ” Deva protests as the ornate quilt is yanked off her, exposing her to the chill of the morning air.

“Is this the thanks I receive for speaking up for your needs, princess? Shame on me for caring,” Maniamma huffs theatrically. Deva rolls her eyes.

“What do I need to thank you for? Cutting my sleep short?”

“Go outside and see. I’ve packed lunch for you – but first, get dressed.” Maniamma hands her a neatly folded pile of clothing. Deva looks down in surprise, feeling the noticeable absence of embellishments pricking at her fingers.

“These are the clothes of commoners!”

Maniamma presses her lips together to hide a smile.

“Now go think about what that means in the bath. Go, go, hurry up!”

* * *

Deva watches the charioteer walk around the small open carriage to inspect it. The single horse tethered to the chariot sniffs abruptly, flicking its tail. The charioteer pauses to stroke it gently, murmuring something into its ear before he turns away, tugging his scarf up to his nose.

“You’re sending me to the trading post,” Deva repeats. “ _Alone._ ”

“Well, you have the charioteer for company. Deva, we trust you,” the Queen smiles a little too broadly.

Deva bites back a groan. She _should_ be thankful of the mostly-unchaperoned visit (if she heard Kumaravarman (incorrectly) lecture her on the finer points of sword crafting one more time…!) but her eyes once again land on the charioteer, who is busying himself adjusting the reins on the horse.

Her brother’s eyes, probably.

She musters up a smile for her sister-in-law’s sake and soon, they’re off.

The charioteer remains silent, eyes fixed on the path ahead. Deva revels in the quiet, watching the lush green pastures that surround the castle pass by. Farmers work in the fields, tending to the various crops that will become Kuntala’s prized exports in a couple of months.

The uneven wheels rattle the carriage, jolting her spine, but Deva pays it no heed and instead finds solace in the breeze that teases the charioteer’s scarf up off his shoulders.

She sighs, lost in thought.

“I want to see how normal people live,” she muses, not realizing she’d spoken out loud until the charioteer clears his throat. She bites the tip of her tongue.

“Well yuvarani, if you so request it I may be able to help.” His voice is muffled by the scarf but the title _yuvarani_ uniquely lies on the cusp of mockery that Deva leans forward.

“Really?” she asks in flat disbelief, hiding the eagerness from her tone.

The charioteer turns and she catches a glimpse of sparkling brown eyes. “Really, yuvarani.”

The wind-god decides to end the drama there, and the scarf unwinds itself, revealing a familiar face.  

“Your wish is my command,” Cassian adds with a broad grin.

Deva does an admirable job of not falling ungracefully off her seat. Retaining her composure, she pointedly asks: “Why all this drama and disguise, Cassian? Do you not trust me?”

He laughs and the horse’s ears turn to listen. “These are the clothes of every charioteer, yuvarani. I did not intend to trick you. The palace requested I be your chauffeur for the day, that is all.”

Deva twitches her nose to hide a smile.

* * *

Her plain garbs are essentially useless - most of the Kuntalan merchants recognize their spitfire princess. Deva’s clothing only serves to delay the revelation long enough for her to press heavy silver coins into their palms, insisting they keep their rightfully earned profits.

“The royals aren’t as benevolent in Magizhmathi,” Cassian muses a little while later.

He’s accompanied her to every stall, hanging back a respectful distance. Now, away from the prying eyes of merchants, he walks beside her.

“Really?” Deva asks, looking up from her inspection of her brand-new arrowheads. “Pray, tell.”

“In their defense, if they paid for everything the merchants gave them, they’d be bankrupt. They consider the merchants to be paying _them_ , instead of the other way around.”

A frown tugs at her lips. “That still seems unfair.”

“It is rather unfortunate, but it seems their royals do not care for interacting with commoners as much as you do.”

She smirks, lifting her chin. “Of course. We are far better at that than those city dwellers who think they’re above the rest of us.”

Deva expects a response, but her spy says nothing and keeps his head fixed at the path directly ahead, leading to the tree where their horse is tethered. It faintly neighs a greeting as it idly flicks it tail.

She glowers at the back of his head.

“What?”

He turns to face her. “Were you serious about wanting to see how the commoners live, earlier?”

She worries her lower lip with her teeth, watching Cassian approach the horse and prepare it for the journey back, ruffling its mane. “Of course. Yuvarani Devasena never utters a lie.”

“Well, neither does Cassian, yuvarani,” he chuckles. “I’ll take you down to the farms one day. Have you ever visited them before?”

He nods for her to board the carriage, offering a hand that she swats away.

She steps up into her seat. “Never.”

The realization unfolds slowly, and she understands that Cassian had been pointing her in this direction of thought the entire day. “My brother goes, sometimes, but usually the farmers come to the palace, mainly during the Harvest Festival.” Cassian hops into the charioteer’s seat.

“Well,” he replies pensively, clicking his tongue at the horse to urge it forwards, “I think that’s something we need to change.”

* * *

* * *

Her brother finds her under their mother’s portrait: a larger-than-life rendering of the most recent Queen of Kuntala.

 _Her Royal Highness Queen Hamsaasanadevi,_ the inscription reads. _Dearly loved by her people, and her children: Yuvraj Jayavarma and Yuvarani Devasena._ A simple statement followed by the years of her mother’s reign.

A simple statement that means the universe to her.

There’s no mention of her father, a prince several elder brothers away from his father’s throne. He had proved his prowess in negotiation – which, for a country like Kuntala that praises sharp tongues and sharp arrows, was a useful asset. An asset that he taught his children until his untimely demise at the hand of a temple elephant.

The elephant, however, retained its tenure at the mountain-temple of Devi Shailaputri, and to this day nibbles away at fragments of coconut offerings with great gusto.

 _Animals do not know right from wrong as we: it is what differentiates humans from the rest of Brahma’s creatures._ Her mother’s steady voice still echoes in her ears. _They are voiceless spirits, and it is up to the rulers like ourselves to defend their rights – and the rights of any creature without a voice._

“You only come here when you are upset,” Jayavarma says, coming to a stop beside her. Deva turns to look at him but his gaze is fixed on the portrait. “Or when you want to ask me something.”

His gaze turns to her. “Which one is it, Deva?”

She runs a hand along her arm, bangles chiming under her fingernail as she rubs at the early morning chill settling on her skin.

“I want to go visit the farms.”

She glances at him under the cover of her eyelashes. Neither surprise nor concern affects his face. Instead he looks at her with a poorly restrained smile.

“I knew you’d ask me one day.”

“So can I go?” she asks, a little too eagerly. She rocks her weight back to the heels of her feet. _Any good royal, especially a princess, must be in control of her emotions,_ Maniamma’s voice says, _it is a weapon you have yet to learn to wield._

Only then does a frown tug at her brother’s lips.

“There’s a reason I’ve never sent you down there,” he says, clearing his throat.

Lines trail down the bridge of Deva’s scrunched-up nose. “What reason?”

“Boars,” he replies grimly.

“Boars? What kind of boars can the soldiers of Kuntala not handle?”

“Wild boars. They are trampling the fields of our farmers, and when I sent some soldiers with spears to investigate, they narrowly escaped being gored to death.”

“How did the farmers deal with them before?”

“They weren’t as much of a problem before in our mother’s time,” her brother says, glancing up at the portrait. “But newly developed trade routes have impacted their traditional migration patterns and have forced the beasts to take to the fields. The farmers have tried setting up barriers to no avail – the boards need some… encouragement.”

Jayavarma’s lips curl into a smile at the sight of the wrinkles folding between his little sister’s eyebrows.

“What do you have in mind, Deva?”

* * *

The farmers are only used to seeing the royals during the harvest, and thus when the teenage Devasena is introduced as Mythili, they easily accept her identity as one of the palace archers.

“After all,” a woman murmurs, “if the princess herself is an archer, it is no stretch of the imagination that she’s trained other young girls to follow her footsteps.”

Deva bites her lip. She had not thought about taking the girls of the country under her tutelage. She’s only fourteen, barely a teenager, and the thought of having responsibility over others is daunting.

 _One day you will be Queen,_ her mother’s voice chides, _and you must be ready._

Cassian is himself for once, the young charioteer who will help Deva on her mission. He cheerily nods at her as he steps up into the modified plough-cart.  A guard accompanies them, brandishing a large sword and shield, lest a rowdy boar decides to run in their direction.

Not if Deva had her way with it.

She'd invited Kumaravarman as well - out of formality more than anything - but he had other duties inspecting the armory, or so he had told her. Deva's lips twitch into a slight smile at the thought of Kumaravarman being chased by a wild boar. She slings the bow over the shoulder and hops into the cart, joining Cassian.

They head off into the fields. A crowd of farmers has gathered to watch, and the cool breeze of the day grazes the back of her neck.

She is at once both excited and anxious to finally point her arrows at something other than mangoes and carefully painted targets.

Cassian seems to sense her tension with that seventh-spy-sense of his, and innocently chirps:

“Are you nervous, yuvarani?”

“Of course not,” she scoffs, to hide the slight waver of her voice.

“Then, are you _scared_?” he promptly replies.

“No!” she exclaims with fervor. “Boars are just a bigger, moving target.”

“So why are you picking at your poor arrow?”

Deva confusedly looks down and realizes she’d being twirling the feathered end of one of her arrows. The bright pink plumage curls around her finger, its colour rivalling the hue of embarrassment in her cheeks.

“I might be nervous,” she admits sullenly.

“Why?” Cassian prods, pointedly not turning to face her as he coaxes the horse into the lush fields. Streaks of green lick at the wheels as the cart bumps along the mineral-rich dirt.

“I,” Deva begins, and falters when she catches sight of the guard, who quickly looks away at the suddenly interesting treeline. The thunder of the wheels bouncing along the ground fills the silence as she gathers her thoughts.

“I,” she restarts, “have never killed anything before.”

She hears the low rumble of a supressed chuckle. “That is all?” Cassian asks.

“What do you mean, _that is all_? A mango is a far stretch from a boar.” Deva grows indignant at Cassian’s nonchalant tone, and the ever-shrinking distance between them and the boars.

“You’re the one who said, and I repeat you word for word, _boars are just a bigger, moving target._ So why the sudden confusion, yuvarani?” He drops the cheeky tone in favour of genuine concern. “Do you want me to go back?”

“No,” Deva quickly replies. “I wanted to do this, I _want_ to do this. I just don’t know how I can look at the boar and kill it.”

She suppresses a shudder.

“Simple,” Cassian replies and her lips curl in surprise.

“How?”

“It is your duty. The boars are harassing the farmers, which threaten not only our crops – the livelihoods of our farmers and Kuntala’s economy - but our citizens’ lives. Therefore,” he pauses, before concluding, “the boars are enemies and conspirators against the nation. And as the crown princess, it is your duty to defeat the enemy by whatever means necessary.”

The prospect of wild boars conspiring against Kuntala causes a giggle to bubble in her chest, but some of the unease still lingers.

“Is it not wrong to kill?”

“Not when it is in the best interests of the nation – more importantly, the citizens. Besides, are you one of those haughty children of insolent kings who kills living creatures for sport?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you need not worry,” Cassian finishes with a curious hint of dull resignation. Deva wants to press further but a voice exclaims:

“Boar!”

A large, dark blur bursts from the tall grass into their path, and Deva raises her bow.

* * *

* * *

 

Deva walks alone in the hallways, the taste of lunch still lingering on her lips, her only accompaniment the occasional breeze coming in from the open windows.

All is quiet, until suddenly:

“Yuvanrani!”

Cassian appears out of nowhere, landing lightly on his feet and gracefully takes a deep, mischievous bow before the princess.

“You monkey!” Bewildered, she takes a step back. “Is that what they’re training you to be? Where did you leap down from?” She looks up and around in confusion.

“That’s a trade secret, yuvarani.” He grins.  

Deva huffs. “Anyways, I haven’t seen you for quite a while now. What brings you to see me today?” She dimly recalls a half-hidden face during the last festival, and a distinct voice wishing his princess all the best on her birthday – but had seen nothing of him since.

“I could only catch a reprieve today and I realized it would line up around your lunchtime, so I decided to… drop by. How are you, yuvarani?”

Deva moves to a bench under one of the windows looking out to the garden. She takes a seat, motioning for him to join her. He obliges, casually plopping down in the corner opposite hers.  

“I’m getting old now,” she says with a slight smirk, and Cassian laughs.

“What, are you ripening at the grand old age of fifteen? What does that make me?”

Deva shakes her head, smile fading.

“I’m the heir to the throne, remember?”

Her eyes drop to Cassian who, without much regard for protocol, sits with his legs crossed up on the bench.

“So?” His voice drops to a conspiring whisper. “Are they trying to marry you off?”

“ _God_ no,” Deva scrunches up her nose. “We’ve eradicated child marriages in the entire country, do you really think my brother would marry me off before I’m twenty?” She shakes her head slowly, and turns to watch a bird flutter down onto a branch directly above their heads. It sways with the bird’s weight. “I wouldn’t let him. No, it’s the responsibility that’s getting to me. I’m participating in more meetings of the court. My teachers are getting even _more_ obscure and long winded, which I didn’t even think was possible.”

“And,” she continues, not letting Cassian sneak a word in, “more recently, every time we get a new handmaiden, they’ve been assigned to me! Soon enough a horde of girls will be following me wherever I go! I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like them – they’re all quite friendly, but now I have no sense of privacy!”

She sighs, glancing up at the bird preening itself. “Look at how free that bird is, it can do whatever it wants. I know I have responsibilities as a princess, but, just _once –_ I wish I could do something. I remember when you first met me, I was bored all the time. Now, there is too much of everything and I think it’s only going to get worse.”

She stops, then, and looks at Cassian. “Have I said too much?”

He looks at her through his eyelashes and gently smiles. “No, yuvarani, you’re just going through a teenage crisis. It’s normal.”

Deva blinks at him. “A _crisis!_ ” she exclaims, then groans and leans her head against the wall, closing her eyes. “Of course.” 

She looks up when Cassian chuckles. “What?”

He shakes his head. “I thought of the poor man who will marry you, that’s all.”

Deva twitches her mouth and sits up. “Why did you think of him?”

Cassian looks at Deva thoughtfully. “Have you given it much thought?”

“I’m _fifteen_. Are you in the mood to marry me off to someone today, Cassian? Was that why you decided to meet me? Where’s the proposal?” Deva juts out her chin, slightly agitated that her valid complaints had been met with teasing – which, in hindsight, she should’ve expected from him.

“Nothing like that, yuvarani, I just thought a princess like yourself would have laid out your requirements long ago, to nip any of your brother’s delusions in the bud.” He shakes his head. “Rather, poor Kumaravarman’s delusions.”

Deva continues to stare pointedly at him with arrow-sharp eyes, and his smile melts into a grin.

“So you have!”

“It was last year. Cassian. One of my older cousins had just been married off to some snobbish prince, and I was fearful the same would happen to me.”

Cassian studies her with an air of gratification – _I told you so_ , his eyes say – with his chin resting on the palm of his hand. Deva resists the urge to smack the grin off his face. She chooses, instead, to pull her feet up and rest her cheek on her knees and look out at the world outside.

“What did you ask for, then? A master of all the arts, a brave and glorious hero of a large empire, a cunning warrior?” Cassian goads, looking for an answer. “All three?”

Deva shakes her head and meets his gaze with solemn eyes.

“A good person. That’s all I said. _A good person, who cares for the needs of others, who treats the lowliest being with respect._ _Someone who does not want for blood, land or riches, only for happiness_.” She turns back to the window, watching the solitary bird shuffling alongside the branch. “I know my brother and his ministers will deal with all the other formal _qualifications_ required for someone marrying into Kuntala’s royalty. All I wish for is this.”

Cassian stays surprisingly silent for a moment, and Deva arches an eyebrow at him. He grins in response and gestures towards her. “I didn’t know the yuvarani was a poet!”

Then, more softly: “I do hope you will find someone like that.”

“Do you think such a person even exists?”

Cassian eyes twinkle, then adopts a more serious look. “For you, yuvarani?” he leans forward, earnest. “Of course.” 

The bird, in an explosion of feathers, takes off into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamsaasanadevi – “Lady (Devi) of the Swan (Hamsa) Throne/Seat (Asana)”. Refers to Saraswathi, an apt name for a Queen of Kuntala.
> 
> Shailaputri – “Daughter (Putri) of the Mountain (Shaila)”. Refers to goddess Parvati, who I think would be the patron deity of Kuntala.
> 
> Mythili – Princess of Mithila, refers to Sita, who as a child in the Ramayanam, lifts the supposedly unliftable bow of Lord Sivan.
> 
> I don’t support killing animals as a rule, but the theme of deciding when/who/why to kill is a prominent theme of both Arjunan’s arc in the Mahabharatam and Cassian’s arc in Rogue One.


	6. brevity or bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which the princess practises her letter-writing skills.)

> To the esteemed King and Queen of Kuntala –

It has been brought to my attention that some pressing duties of mine, as the Crown Princess of Kuntala, have escaped my notice. I have left to meet with those concerned and to work with them to find a solution, as per my mandate. I will return once the issue has been resolved. Expect me to return to the palace within a week’s time - with a solution. I will send word if I can.

> Yours respectfully,
> 
> Yuvarani Devasena.

* * *

> To my brother and sister and law –

It was most likely Maniamma that found this letter on my bed instead of myself this morning, and I have a feeling she did not worry but instead thought something on the lines of “I knew this would happen eventually!” (She might have even said the same to you!)

I know Anni is not the same way and stresses far too much, and I apologize for making her worry about my whereabouts. Anna, take care of her until I come back.

Knowing how things work within the palace there may already be rumors of how a spy ran off with the young princess. The truth is I believe the phrase ‘she ran off with him’ would be more accurate. Even so, I’ve only run off to fulfill my duties as Princess of the nation and uphold dharma, not to elope or something silly like that. Don’t blame him for not informing you, I only brought up the idea after his nightly briefing so there was no way he could have told you!

I'm sixteen and the best archer in the nation, accompanied by one of your finest spies. We'll be fine.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.

> With love,
> 
> Deva.

* * *

 

> To Maniamma –

I can practically see your knowing smirk.  Please make sure Anna and Anni don’t freak out too much, and make sure Kumaravarman keeps his mouth firmly shut. Don't yell at me too much when I get back.

(I actually woke up early and packed food myself for once, can you imagine?)

> With love,
> 
> Deva.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's short and mysterious. :)


	7. in a name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which the plot thickens.)

The side of Deva’s foot grazes against the edge of the path, sending a flurry of pebbles over the cliff. They skip across the mountain’s face, tumbling down and disappearing into the endless dark.

The night is quiet save for the crunch of the ground under their feet. They had left the horses at the base of the mountain, the royal steeds not suited for difficult travel. The mares know their way back home, but Deva couldn’t help but glance back down their route and hope Adhrika and Andhira made it back safely.

The safety of the horses is the least of her problems, though.

She stops for a moment – convincing herself it’s not to catch her breath – and watches Kuntala’s palace glimmer in the idyllic light of the full moon.  

“Are you alright, yuvarani?”

His voice is gentle as always, laced with concern. “We can stop here if you need it. It’s normal to wait a night during the ascent, it helps you adjust to the thinner air.”

She turns away from her the view of her home, lips parting without response. Cassian looks at her curiously, hand reaching towards the bag on his shoulders.

“Are you rethinking this? There’s no shame in going back, they probably haven’t even noticed your disappearance yet.”

“It’s my duty,” Deva replies firmly, verbalizing the sole mantra occupying her mind for the past few hours. 

Cassian presses his lips into a line.

“Okay. But I think we should set up camp here.”

Deva nods reluctantly, grateful for the break but still wanting to reach the mountain village sooner. _There is so much work to be done._

“They’ve waited years for this,” Cassian says without looking up from the bag he’s now set on the ground, rummaging for supplies. “They can wait one more night.”

“I know, just…”

“Patience, yuvarani.” He unfurls a large woven cloth from the bag, shaking it out to obscure the smirk on his face.

Deva shakes her head with a slight roll of her eyes, extracting a canister of water from her own bag. “You sound like-”

“I know. But it’s true. You’re not going to do any good up there if you’re oxygen deprived.” With a flick of his wrists, Cassian lays the sheet across the widest part of the path. Dusting his gloved hands, he procures another sheet from his bag. “We don’t even have a plan.”

“I _have_ a plan.”

“Was running off into the mountains the extent of your plan?” He gaze remains fixed on the task at hand, the loose strands of hair in front of his eyes masking his expression, but the lowering tone of his voice hints at his train of thought. Deva uncaps the canister and takes a long sip before replying.

“I’m capable of doing things on my own, you know. I have a plan. I’m going to talk to both sides of the situation, convince them to come to a compromise and help them do so.”

She snaps the lid shut.

“How? As Princess of the country that has forgotten them?”

The corner of her mouth twitches as Deva kneels beside Cassian to help him set up the shelter. She crouches, gathering one side of the sheet as Cassian fastens it to the ground, and watches as he fixes the other end to the side of the mountain, creating a makeshift shelter.

“No, obviously. I’ll introduce myself as someone else.”

“Then you’re just a stranger with no authority.”

He ducks his head under the fabricated roof, peering through to smile at the Princess.

“That’s alright. I’ll have you with me,” she replies, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m sure you’re capable of helping me, dear spy of mine.”

“So you didn’t have a plan.” Cassian straightens, and tosses the two bags inside. There’s just enough room for Deva to lie down, but she sits instead, crawling in and gesturing for Cassian to join her.

“My _plan_ was to ask you to help me.” She pulls out a blanket from her own bag, and debates between sealing off the enclosure and using it for warmth. Her clothes are unusually warm, thanks to Cassian’s careful selection, but she’s still surprised how _cold_ it is.

And here she thought only those who hailed from Magizhmathi felt the cold.

Cassian’s eyes twinkle.

“You’ve given me a problem with no solution,” Deva protests.

“That’s what royals are _supposed_ to solve.”

“Yeah, they find the person most suited for the job and give it to them. That’s you,” Deva says, and jabs the air in his direction.

Cassian shifts in his seat. “Okay. I’ll introduce you as someone else. Be yourself, though, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.”

Deva nods slowly, and for one chilly moment they remain quiet.

“I’ll go sleep outside. I’ll take my leave, yuvarani?”

She watches as he takes a blanket from his bag and steps out into the moonlight.

* * *

Deva dreams of a far-away kingdom. Farther than Magizhmathi, farther than the borders where ocean waves lap restlessly at the edges of the continent, farther than the roughly sketched lines of the most detailed map she’d ever seen –

They speak languages with rhythms unlike she’s ever heard. Their clothes are vibrant and beautiful, their gods plentiful and foreign. Their foods unfamiliar, the people even more so.

She feels the winds of change whipping around her, blowing her hair into her face.

By the time she’s brushed it out of her eyes, Deva finds herself on the bow of a ship.

There is no flag above her, and the rumbles of people bustling about are still unfamiliar.

But then she looks to the line of where the sky meets the ocean, and is greeted with a familiar sight. It’s the outline of Kuntala’s horizon: mountains that jut up into the heavens, staggered by gaps that allow rays of sunlight to peer between them.

And then she is home.

* * *

Deva awakes to the same rays of sunlight gently buffeting the flap of the makeshift shelter. They cast a shadow on the sheet, and she realizes that Cassian is already awake.

Having readied herself for the day, some minutes later she peeks out and gasps.

The entirety of Kuntala glitters in the morning light. She can make out the white details of the palace glittering in gold, and even spot some ripples in the fields hinting at the trails of farmers that have already begun to attend to their daily tasks.

“This is why you should wake up early more often, yuvarani,” Cassian says, barely looking up from a pot of something steaming.

“Good morning to you too,” Deva replies brusquely, then turns to look at his pot. “Did you wake up early just to heat water?’

“It takes longer in higher altitudes,” he explains. Deva’s eyebrows arc upwards in surprise.

“Honestly, how do you live up here?”

“Other kingdoms ask the same thing of Kuntala,” Cassian replies cheerily, lifting the container off the fire. “And we ask the same of them. It’s the same logic.” 

She nods slowly, stretches, and sits down beside Cassian.

“We’re going to reach the first settlement today,” she says.

“We are.”

“Which one is it? I mean, is it the one you’re from… or the other one?”

He juts his chin forward and Deva scoops a spoonful of tealeaves out of a small bag, putting them into a cup. He fills the cup with the piping hot water, then strains out the leaves.

“It won’t take you long to find out,” Cassian says, and hands her the steaming cup.

* * *

They reach it a couple hours later, when the sun is high enough in the sky that the small settlement bustles with activity. It’s a small clearing on the side of the mountain, spots of vegetation dabbling the landscape.

Deva is welcomed by the sound of braying goats and the hooves of beasts of burden. She worries her lip, wondering whether the vilalgers would welcome the sight of a stranger. She barely has time to get over her anxieties as an old man steps out from behind a crowd of domesticated goats.

He calls a name.

“Awilix!”

Deva marvels at the different sound of the language, but balks when Cassian grins and replies.

She turns to press further but Cassian is already asking the old man a question, presumably inquiring his wellbeing, and the man responds in kind.

Then the man looks to Deva and asks Cassian another question.

She takes a deep breath. _My name is Mythilidevi, I’m one of her highness Yuvarani’s-_

“This is her royal highness Yuvarani Devasena,” Cassian says, inclining his head stiffly.

Deva’s eyes fly open as soon as his sentence cuts off short.

The old man gasps.

“Your highness! I had-we-I had no idea- please, forgive-oh my!” The old man hurriedly, as much as his limp would allow, hobbles his way into the village, calling for the others.

Deva takes the reprieve to shoot a glare at Cassian.

“What was _that_ for? I thought you said we couldn’t get anything done if they knew my identity?”

“Forgive me for keeping you in the dark, yuvarani,” he whispers, leaning close. “But can you guess which village this is?”

Her expression relaxes, her glare melting into a mere stare.

* * *

They’re soon whisked apart as Deva is showered with the treatment befitting a visiting Princess. Young women gawk and murmur as they surround her, admiring her wardrobe – though she currently wasn't wearing anything different from theirs – and her gait – though it was unsuited for the mountainous terrain. They shower her with the best of their products, and Deva is honestly flabbergasted at the quality of everything from their dyed wools to their playthings.

Eventually the sheer exhaustion from absorbing this much information weighs down on her, and somewhere after the third hour she’s lost focus.

“… and this is how we make the goat cheese,” the old man from earlier concludes. Deva nods, genuinely intrigued by the process but had quickly turned her thoughts inward, having lost track of Cassian.

“And this is what you sell down in the markets, correct?” she asks.

The old man is eager to answer.

“Yes, this and the herbs and berries we collect. Did you know Kuntala’s mountains are home to very rare medicinal herbs that even the great kingdoms to the North cannot find?”

She nods again, recalling something from a lesson on imports and exports.

The old man gives her a toothy smile. “But of course, Yuvarani, nothing is beyond from your knowledge.” He includes his head, and the few remants of the crowd – whose devotion to the throne apparently withstood the boredom induced by the finer aspects of cheese making - hum in agreement.

Deva opens her mouth to argue that that was far from the truth, that she hadn’t really known this village existed until Cassian had told her so, and then remembers the name the old man had called him.

“How do you know, um, my-” she searches for a label more suitable than _spy._

“Your guide?” the man offers, and Deva nods almost too enthusiastically in relief.

“Well, as the liaison between the palace and our village, everyone here knows who Awilix is,” he says, titling his head.

“Right. Yes, of course, we tasked him to ensure all your needs were met. But,” she licks her lips, feeling the eyes of the villages on her, “I was never quite satisfied with the information. As soon as I was of age, I decided to pay a visit myself.”

The villagers nod. _How great was the Princess for taking matters into her own, very capable hands! The King must be proud of his sister!_ She swallows, hard, and smiles nervously. If they found out this wasn’t an official visit, she’d have no clue how they would react.

She wasn’t planning on ever finding out.

Deva shivers, then, and realizes the moon had already begun its nightly journey of the sky, bringing the chill with it. The old man seems to pick up on it.

“Perhaps we should let the yuvarani retire for the evening. Have we set up lodgings for her?”

Two children push their way forward in the ground, and the taller one, a girl, nods and whispers something in the old man’s ear. Deva can’t help but smile as the girl beckons for her to follow.

* * *

Sleep does not find her and Deva has no intention of seeking it out. When Cassian – nobody else would dare, and the rhythm is a secret privy to only him – lightly raps the door to the small hut, she immediately calls for him to come in.

He’s met with a set of narrowed eyes.

“You have hid much from me.”

“I am sorry, truly,” Cassian says, as he sits near the foot of the mattress.

"I don't mind a little playfulness," Deva says sternly like the royalty that she is, "but you could've told me this was the village loyal to the royal family. And you didn't tell me you went by a different name here. What if I had blown your cover?"

"I honestly thought you'd rather find out yourself than have me tell you everything. You know, independence."

She sighs and rests her elbows on her knees, peering at him over the edge of the mattress. “Where have you been? Or are you going to hide that from me as well?”

She doesn’t regret the sharpness of her voice, not even when Cassian looks disappointed.

“I thought it would be best to leave you with the villagers.”

“And?”

He blinks. “I put our stuff in the hut I usually stay in when I’m here. Not suitable for two people, before you ask,” he adds when Deva moves to ask a question.

“That’s not what I was going to ask you. Actually, was this what my brother asked of you? Check in on the village for him?”

He nods.

“So why hasn’t he done anything to help solve the rift?”

Cassian sighs, rubbing his chin. “Kuntala is not the utopia you may think it is, yuvarani,” he begins, but Deva raises a hand.

“I want direct answers. Now, you can tell me the _complete_ story while we walk.”

“Where?”

“I’m going to the other village, and you’re coming to help me.”

Cassian begins to reply, but then she hears a low rumble of stones skipping across the mountain face, and he freezes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freedom from school means freedom to write - and Merry Christmas!  
> Just a little fun note: Awilix is the god(dess, most commonly) of the night in Mayan mythology, and funnily enough one of Cassian's canon aliases was named Willix. I couldn't pass this up :P  
> Also, I promise there's no slave labor. *coughs in direction of canon novel*


	8. in the blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which things go sideways.)

Cassian creeps out of the hut, disappearing past the doorframe. Deva follows suit, careful not to let the door squeak behind her.

The sight she’s greeted by chills the blood in her veins.

She reaches out for her quiver only to realize that Cassian had stashed her weapons away in his hut.

Her heart seizes in her chest as she stares directly into the eyes of a white tiger. The predatory feline yawns dismissively, displaying its sharp fangs, lolling pink tongue darting out between them.

Cassian stands a pace or two ahead of her, frozen in place.

He turns his head almost imperceptibly to shoot her a glance, the mutual realization that neither of them had weapons written in both their expressions.

The tiger’s icy blue eyes peer at them in the darkness.

It then extends a paw, claws flashing, before taking a step forward.

“Don’t move,” Cassian whispers under his breath.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Deva hisses back.

She stays as still as humanely possible, regulating her breathing to reduce the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes flicker between Cassian, hunched forward as if in an attack position, and the tiger, whose tail flicks the air gently as if bemusedly waiting for a game to begin.

Cassian murmurs something, voice raised as if asking a question.

But he isn’t asking her.

The tiger’s ears twitch, and a low grumble escapes its throat as it takes another step forward.

Deva’s heart strains against her ribcage. She wishes she had at least grabbed her knife from under her pillow, she contemplates screaming for help.

Cassian seems to sense her intent because a moment later he raises a hand. The tiger’s eyes follow the movement, curious, and its ears twitch.

He spits out a single word.

_Go._

The tiger slowly blinks at them, then shifts its heavy-lidded gaze towards Deva.

She swallows, hard, hands curling into a fist at her sides.

Perhaps she could buy the village some time. Perhaps –

Before she can finish the thought, the tiger turns around and scampers back up the mountain. She blinks rapidly, her brain trying to process what she’s seeing.

She waits until the white tiger’s striped tail disappears behind an outcropping of rock before turning to gape at Cassian.

“What was _that?!”_

“A white tiger, yuvarani,” he replies serenely, but his eyes betray his thoughts. With a nod of his head he motions for her to follow him back into the hut. “They’re common enough. Nothing to get overly alarmed about, unless you give it a reason to attack.”

She’s still staring at him as they duck through the door, but she holds her tongue until she shuts it with one loud, swift, crack, sealing their conversation from the outside world.

“What _was_ that?” she repeats. “Did-did you _tell_ it to go away? And it _listened?_ ” A corner of her brain recalls the way he’d handled the horses as her charioteer. The realization must’ve dawned on her face because Cassian nods grimly.

Deva wrinkles her nose. “You can talk to animals?”

The smile he wears in response lists to the side self-deprecatingly. “Not really. I just know how to make them listen.”

She sits down on her bed and it squeaks underneath her as she frowns.

“That sounds like talking.”

Her hand slips under her pillow, fishing out the knife, and now her thumb runs along the intricate patterns carved into the handle.

Cassian shakes his head, moving to perch on a nearby table before she juts her chin towards the foot of her mattress. “You’ve seen the relationship between rider and horse, and hunter and hound. Same thing, just…”

He perches on the edge of the mattress, which buckles under his weight. “I have an affinity with a wider range of animals like ones I’ve never met before. As with anything one has a natural ability for,” he continues, jerking his chin towards the knife in her hands, “it’s a skill that is honed by time and practise.”

She stares at him, at a loss for words, fidgeting with the knife.  

In the distance, an owl hoots.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not a skill I’d like to flaunt, yuvarani. The walls have ears.”

She almost laughs. “Spying on a spy.” Cassian’s lips quirk up, then another doubt strikes Deva. “Who knows? Only Anna?”

He nods, adding, “and the others.” 

“There are more with this talent?”

“There are a few others,” he says, staring at the patch of moonlight on the floor. “Some were the ones-”

“That came with you to the palace that first day. I remember.” Deva leans back, pieces falling together in her mind. “And I bet that none of the people in this village can, and that is another reason the villages split.”

Cassian nods.

Deva chews at her lip, deep in thought.

“You could use it as a weapon, but it itself could be used against you – the secret as leverage, a tool to discriminate,” she murmurs aloud to herself. “And-”

She stills, and looks up to Cassian who had been studying her closely.

“They-they didn’t send the tiger down to spy on us, did they?”

Cassian smiles a little, voice mournful. “We do not speak the language of animals nor can they speak to us, so spying is out of a question.” At the look on Deva’s face he adds: “But one could refuse to chase predators away-”

“-or redirect them into this village,” she interrupts, horrified.

He looks at her, aghast. “That’s never happened. That tiger showed up of its own free will. It had eaten already.”

Deva leans forwards in thought, then turns to look at Cassian over her shoulder.

She gives him a grim, pointed smile.

“Are you trying to deflect blame off your own people?”

She’s surprised at the impact of her words – Deva expects a rebuke, but instead Cassian’s eyes remained fixed on her, mouth pressing into a firm line as his shoulders sink.

 “I’m telling the truth, yuvarani. The villages are at odds, but never purposefully cruel. It would be difficult to survive in this environment otherwise.”

The want to trust thrums in her heart but her mind begs to differ.

 _Decisions must be made from the heart and the mind,_ her mother’s voice reminds her. _Compassion from the heart, reason from the mind._

 _He’s hidden things from you before_.

“I want to see for myself. And that isn’t a question.”

“As you wish, yuvarani,” Cassian says, and his voice is neither cold nor warm.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some rest, and we’ll leave before dawn.”

Cassian stands to leave.

* * *

It takes a few minutes for the plan to solidify in her head, and that delays the realization that a full day has passed since they left the palace. She presents the observation to her companion.

“Missing home, are you?”

She puffs out a breath. “Not while I can still see it. Honestly, I’ve been cooped up too long. There’s so much _out_ there, and to be honest I think I should see it all before I ever inherit the throne.”

“It only makes sense,” Cassian agrees. “Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to show you around.”

She smiles at that.

They’re out of sight of the first village now, and despite the sun gaining strength as it rises in the sky the air remains cool as they hike further up the mountain. Nonetheless, Deva is happier than she’s been in a long time – not to discredit her family and friends, but freedom is intoxicating.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he prods as a smile flickers across his face.

“I’ll tell the truth – I am.” Deva crosses her arms, hands rubbing at her shoulder to keep warm, and glances at her accompaniment. “But you are too, right? After all, you’re coming home.”

“I am.” His voice wavers a little, teetering on the precipice overlooking a depth Deva had not yet the privilege to see.

She recalls the night before and how she had pulled him aside after most of the palace had turned in for the night. She’d demanded he come with her to the mountain villages.

 

> \- _What if I don’t want to?_
> 
> _\- I’m going to leave either way, and it’s your responsibility to keep an eye on me, isn’t it?_
> 
> _\- And if I reveal your plan to the King?_
> 
> _\- You’re already planning out our journey, don’t tease me with false threats._
> 
> _\- Nothing is beyond your sight, yuvarani._
> 
> _\- I said, don’t tease me!_

“When was the last time you saw them? Your family, I mean?”

Cassian runs a thumb underneath the straps of the bag on his back. “My parents died when I was six – but in terms of the village, I was there a couple years ago. The King had asked me to check in, see if the crops had made a comeback after the drought.”

“Had they?”

“The first good harvest since I left, but nothing like what it used to be.”

Deva sighs.

“I wish we could do something more. The easiest and best way for all of this to end is to ensure the villages can survive independently.”

Cassian nods. “Kuntala’s farming community is one of the most venerated on the continent, and it’s malapradhesam is equally as unique. To find a hardier strain of seed that would work in this climate – only a Kuntalan farmer will be able to. And they’re working on it.”

“They are,” she nods, and sighs. “Don’t you wish you knew everything so you could solve everyone’s problems?”

He gives her a thoughtful, appraising look. The sound of rocks and swathes of grass crunching under their feet fills the silence.

“Not many would be willing to bear such a responsibility, yuvarani.”

“Really? Perhaps such magnanimous behaviour is only suited for royals?” It’s an honest question on her part, but as soon as Cassian opens his mouth she understands her naivete.

He seems to understand, anyways. Cassian chuckles. “Far from it. You’ve heard of evil Kings and heroic commoners in stories, haven’t you? Those things are rooted in truth. Kuntala is blessed to have had a royal family with hearts worthy of the throne.”

“Wouldn’t it be nicer if all rulers had worthy hearts?”

“Then soldiers would have nothing to do.”

Deva frowns. “I guess that’s true. Kuntala hardly has a proper army – we haven’t needed one in centuries. Nobody strikes the hands that feed them, after all.” She looks at Cassian thoughtfully, the young rays of sunlight catching in his hair and the calls of early birds echoing faintly in the distance. “Perhaps as the villagers said I should start teaching the girls how to use a bow and arrow. Maybe swords.”

“If not for fighting off enemy soldiers, they can fend off unwanted proposals.”

“Words are sharp enough for that,” Deva says with a grin. “But you didn’t answer my original question.”

“Whether I wish I could magically solve everyone’s problems?”

She nods.

“It would be a lie to say I never had,” he concedes, “but-“

“Logic wins – it’s impossible to do so.”

“Never for one person, no. It’s the responsibility of rulers with good hearts like you to find the right person for the job.”

“And it’s the duty of spies with good hearts like you to give me the information I need to understand the problem,” Deva adds serenely with a smile.

“Poking fun at me, are you, yuvarani?”

“I thought this,” she begins, and the word _relationship_ stalls on her tongue. “-arrangement was based on mutual trust. I’ve known you for what, three years now? And I nothing of your family, and you keep withholding information from me. Some informant you are.” She remembers the faint refrain of their argument – or rather, her outburst – from the night prior and frowns.  “Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m not used to trusting people,” he says gently.

“Oh.” Deva turns her gaze to the path ahead of them, imagining as though she was racing the sun to the top of the mountain. She swears she can see the beginnings of an outline of the village, stark against the light. She reaches for the canister of water hanging from her bag, opens it and takes a sip.

She puts it back, she sets her discretion away with it. “Can I ask why?”

He shrugs. “I’m reserved by nature, I never got along with the few other kids. My profession doesn’t lend well to trust, either.”

Deva nods, seeing her reflection in Cassian’s eyes.

“You mostly only talked to adults?”

“My grandfather, typically. And my sister, but she’s younger.”

“You have a sister?” Deva asks, jaw dropping. He gives her a rueful yet bright smile. “What’s her name?”

“Anita.”

“Will I get to meet her today?”

* * *

She finds her answer not long after. They reach the highest inhabited point in Kuntala not long later, greeted by the sight of a girl who couldn’t be more than three or so years younger than Deva. She’s perched on a boulder gazing wistfully at the Kuntalan palace. A shock of dark brown hair falls across her forehead, the rest pulled back into a single braid which she tosses over her shoulder to regard the newcomers.

Deva turns to Cassian, noting the striking resemblance in their features. Before she can ask, though, the girl cries out.

“Cassian?”

The smiles on the siblings’ faces threaten to split their faces in two. Something squeezes Deva’s heart as Anita bounds into her elder brother’s arms.

Suddenly Deva is reminded of home.

She’d never been away from her brother this long – only a day, but it felt longer.

Anita hadn’t seen her brother in years, at least.

She could only imagine how the younger girl felt, and thus turns away to give them their moment. Deva ambles over to the boulder where the girl was seated and takes in the view.

Kuntala seems so tiny from here. It’s as if the maps of her schoolroom are unraveling before her eyes, but rising above the page, illustrated in vibrant colours, scents, and sounds. The deep blue river winds its way around the continent, uniting kingdoms both friendly and unfriendly, and she feels as though she can reach out and trace its path with her fingertips stirring up its depths. She wonders if the faint buildings she sees in the distance are the spires of Magizhmathi. She sees the snow-dusted mountain ranges that guard Kuntala from invasion. Wide open plains, dusty and dry, that mark the transition from the farmland to the cities further away.

So many people. So many stories.

Boars hide in those forests – thieves, enemy forces, even.

So many people to help.

She hears Cassian whisper something. Seconds later she hears a bright chuckle that morphs into the full-blown chirping laugh of a young girl.

The vastness of the tasks before her – not just this one, but in her future as Queen – seem intimidating, and settle on her shoulders like burden of the earth under these mountains.

Everything starts somewhere, Deva muses, and it’s time for her to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT took an unexpected turn, right? Well, Baahubali and SW both have always teetered on the verge of fantasy (oh come on, unnaturally Strong Man and his Son who defies genes and uh, Space Wizards, sorting out family disputes? That’s fantasy lol, so in keeping with that.) IMO there’s support for some of this in canon, a good chunk of which are spoilers ;)
> 
> This update took so long because I couldn't choose a name for Anita (of course). I was hoping for something with a Mayan-Indian crossover but I wound up with her current name (which is of Spanish origins, which the Mayans did not speak obviously *sad shrug* )


	9. interlude III: the bird’s tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sharp caw breaks through the sunrise coloured mist. Wide eyes and a thin, parted beak are what greet the King of Kuntala on the fourth morning. He leans for a closer inspection, and shimmering pink catches his eye. As if on cue, the bird tilts its head at him and sticks out one twiggy leg.
> 
> “That girl,” the King murmurs with amusement, unravelling the ribbon to free the scroll. The bird ruffles its wings as he begins to read.

> To the esteemed King and Queen of Kuntala,

As promised, an update. This letter must be short, but there is much I must inform you of. Both villages are well and have greeted us with utmost kindness.

As for my mission, the answer lies in your very hands. This bird has never left its perch in the mountains, and yet, my spy assures me that this will find you and not the teeth of a mountain lion.

If this find you, my plan has already succeeded and all Kuntala’s peoples will be united.

The bird knows where to find us and won’t leave unless you send her with a reply.

 

> Yours respectfully,
> 
> Yuvarani Devasena.

* * *

>  To my brother and sister and law,

I hope you both are well. Anni, this is all Anna’s fault for not telling me anything. Don’t worry. I miss you and your food so I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about Cassian, I haven’t found a reason to murder him yet and he’s still putting up with my ‘antics’ quite admirably.

 

> With love,
> 
> Deva

* * *

 

> To Maniamma,

I’ve woken up before the sun for three days in a row, aren’t you proud? Send word if you require any herbs, clothes, anything. What I bring may be the first of a new trade relationship, I’m excited! I miss you dearly.

 

> With love,
> 
> Deva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He rolls up the scroll and looks at the bird, hand reaching for his beard. The bird seems to understand his pensive expression, because it waits several minutes before starting to chirp insistently.
> 
> “Oh, alright, I’ll write you a reply.”


End file.
